Trapped or Enraptured?
by Elizabeth Bower
Summary: It started as a study of her...as an interest in psychology. Or so he still told himself. It wasn't that he'd found her attractive, he'd known many attractive women who had not affected him so. It had been something special about her. Her idealism. The Illusive Man lies dying, and reflects on his time spent with Maria Shepard. Rated actually MA for sex and other adult themes.
1. Prologue: The Whisperers Ending

**A/N:**** This came about while I was reading through some Fem Shep and TIM romance. I had never considered the pairing until I looked up stories with the Illusive Man and found so many of those 95 involved a romance with her. So I had three stories pop into my mind, and this was the first. Now, my Shepard had the most depressing back-story to me that I could think of (because I'm a character sadist, and love it). She was raised as an orphan on Earth, and served at Akuze. She's the Survivor, and I chose Akuze especially for that name. Because that's what I wanted the savior of the galaxy to be in ME1. A survivor. She's also just a basic Soldier.  
**

**But Despite that drive to live, my Shepard is...well, you'll see. This is how I could envision a romance happening between the Illusive Man and a more...not chaste, not really, but a little less explicit Shepard. And no, this doesn't follow canon, because in ME3 I gave up on canon for anything but personalities, because many things. I have not read the graphic novels with TIM in them, or that give more background to him. To show this, he is named Remington. Remington Harper (just because I always thought Harper was a cool name and he seemed to work as a Harper...even before I learned that that is his canon surname).**

**Rated MA for sexual references (alright, sex...), swearing, and insidious thoughts on both sides.**

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What was it about her? Here he was, lying in his own blood, so sure of death...and she should be saving the world from his _folly_, from _his mistakes_...and here she was, weeping over him after shooting him, kissing him...his dark angel. And she _was_ dark...she had fallen so many years ago, as he had. The gangs had molded her, and it showed. She was only thirty-five...but her eyes, so bright a green they were like his...they were far older. He felt so _ashamed_ that part of that was his fault...that he had ever let anyone try to hurt her...

"Marie? Marie...you have to go...save them...save them all...save them from me..." he whispered, feebly reaching up to stroke her cheek. She kissed him, holding him close...so close his body burned again, the cybernetic implants unable to dull the burning passion he still felt for her...by all rights the Reaper's should have locked that from his heart, he should _hate_ her, break her neck-

"Go! Marie, you _have_ to go...before their whispers rule me again...I'm so sorry..."

She was bleeding...part of him knew that she might die too...she might not succeed anymore than he had, but she was _right!_...she was _right_...

He became aware of her fumbling in his suit-pockets, searching for something. He hadn't the energy to tease her, to ask her what she sought now, when time was all that mattered. When humanity needed her to be her strong self, to ignore her feelings just...just one more time...

She smiled weakly, and pulled the silver cigarette case from his suit jacket, and his lighter from another pocket. And she lit the cigarette, and handed it to him.

"You need a smoke...and I want that to still be burning, and you still breathing when I get back...I'm _not_ leaving you here, Remington...You're _not_ dying on me...not now..." she whispered, and he dropped the cigarette with a weak chuckle, enjoying her passionate kiss as he weakly reached a hand up to stroke her black hair, her cybernetic eyes so fiery with her need to keep him alive.

"I'm quitting...can't guarantee the bourbon, but I'm giving those up, Marie...you always hated them anyway..."

She smiled weakly, tears running from those bright green eyes. He knew they had some cybernetics in them...but he recalled thinking, even on the vids when she was made a Specter...he recalled noting how green those eyes were even then. How fiery and passionate...and so attractively bright...

"I thought you said you'd never quit?"

"Never say never, Marie...go on...I'll smoke this last...and I'll be breathing when you get back. But hurry back..."

That's what it was about her...that girlish..._chastity_. That innocence and idealism and hope. The whispered words in his mind had made him hate her, made him want to _hurt her_ for defying him...but they couldn't stop his longing for her. Every night, even with the words in his mind, the thoughts that were not his..._even then_, nights spent hating her turned to dreams of her in his arms again, him soothing some fevered nightmare, him waking her when the night-terrors gripped her once more. When her experiences bit back at her strong soul and caused her so much pain. Her chastity had made him intrigued, it had drawn him in...and he'd seen that cynicism that covered it so well, so obvious in her sarcastic and witty comebacks to his taunts. But underneath that, such a layer of true, genuine compassion...a genuine belief in the goodness of people, in their ability to get along and co-exist.

She still believed that...still believed that of _him_...he who had hurt her so much, who had made her shoot the one man he knew was a father to her. Still she loved him...

When had it started? He wished nothing more than to let his last moments be spent thinking of her...perhaps her hope was infectious, because he hoped so fervently that by thinking of her, he could hurry her, and she could save them and come back to his arms...maybe die there, together...maybe live. But he hoped to hold her again...he wanted to hold her...

When had it started? He'd been intrigued by her from the start, but...had it been when she first demanded to see him? To be brought to his base again and see him in his office, demanding answers of him, searching him with a gaze as piercing as his own? Had it been then, when he'd seen that fiery passion in person? That had started his interest...that had made him call her more frequently, intrigued to push her buttons and see her reactions. To manipulate her and twist her and force her to do as he wished-

_No!_ That had _not_ been the intent! He had wanted to know how and why people followed her so loyally, how she defied him and yet did as he bid, how she was so good a soldier, and how she had survived all she had been through. _What made her tick?_ _That_ had been what started it...simple human curiosity...and an interest in the human psyche. Something they both shared, they had found quickly.

His dark angel...his fiery, dark-haired, fallen angel...he could die happy, if those green eyes were the last thing he saw, and that broken nose was wrinkled slightly in amusement at some tease or other...or those red lips were pressed to his...He could die happy if she could find it in her caring heart to forgive him for everything he'd done...to her, more than to humanity. Humanity could go fuck itself...if they lived, and he doubted it so highly...he wanted to live with her. Just...live. He was one of the richest men in the galaxy...a nice house, a large yard...a stable even, he knew she loved riding...a room for dancing, not the bar-dancing everyone criticized her for, but the proper, ballroom dance...of one form or another. She had been so very fetching when she had danced a flamenco with him...perhaps children, if she wished it...she deserved to have something soft to love...something she could defend but that would love her back. Or just them...he knew she loved dogs and varren, and horse riding...maybe that would be all, them and some pets...but it was a dream he would cling to, as long as he could stand to think of it...

He absently began to smoke the cigarette, savoring it, knowing it could never be his last, but willing to try and make it. It may be his last if he died...and it had to be burning when she got back...he couldn't be dead and break her heart like that.


	2. Chapter 1: The First Step or the Last?

**A/N:** **This is...oh, right after Freedom's Progress. Note: Shepard and Zaeed met a few times on N7 work., it factors in later. So...yeah. This is gonna be a bit weird, but just let me work out my msue here. TIM is being a psychologist right now more than the leader fo Cerberus, he needs her working and able to continue to do so. So he needs to get her on her feet. I promise, despite my bad word-choice, this isn't romantic yet.**

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"Commander, I'm going to-"

"No."

The Illusive Man raised his eyebrows in surprise. Oh, the soldier before him had contradicted his orders before, crossed her arms and made it very obvious she wasn't going to listen to his orders, that she would do things her way...but this was different. She had snarled at him. It had been a long time since anyone had dared do that to him, and it was one of the most...well, if he wasn't her superior he would have said frightening. He'd not heard such a growl from anything but krogan that sounded that angry and genuine.

His stance invited her to continue, but h saw a brief hesitation flicker over her features through the hologram. Ah...so the hound was questioning it's master...and her military training was insisting that she was wrong to do so.

"I'm not doing anything else for you until I meet you in person. Either at your base or on a planet. But in person. I don't take orders from holograms of terrorists."

If he had ever doubted that this woman had balls, those doubts were gone. The green eyes were locked on his blue, fierce and passionate and furious. He respected that. He would indulge her...he knew how she felt, after all, and she deserved some measure of reassurance about what she was doing for him.

"Alright Commander. But you'll wear your uniform, not your armor. I'll give the coordinates for my...'base' to EDI soon. Meet me tomorrow."

She nodded, a sharp, angry movement. He had no doubts she was angry...and since she couldn't ask her crew for answers, she had to go up the chain and ask her superior. Which was him. And that gave him a bit of a thrill, knowing he was the commander of Commander Shepard...

She ended the call, turning on her heel and striding away. What an interesting woman...but what was this? Just before he turned his chair, a flicker in the hologram. She had turned, was facing him...he met her green cybernetic eyes with his own, and he stood slowly, worried that maybe something was wrong, the look on her face sad and drawn.

He folded his hands behind his back after putting out his cigarette, and looked back up at her.

"Was there something you wanted, Shepard?"

She hesitated, and he read her features. A strong leader, she'd survived Akuze when no one else had, she'd survive being an orphan on Earth...she'd survived everything, was still apparently sane...but this was something that Remington Harper hadn't seen in anyone in many years. She survived...but she had doubts. Her face read it so clearly that he felt his jaw drop, though his mouth stayed firmly shut.

"I thought I did...but I don't know anymore. Sir."

A touch of respect he had not come to expect from her. She faced him now, and he tried to discern what she was thinking. But she just seemed troubled, and he stepped a bit closer, watching almost sadly as she took a sharp step back. He advanced again...she didn't retreat, looking more unsure as he tried to press a button, to get her to show her hand...

He stepped forward until he was just in front of her, and he paused there, watching her eyes.

"Best to have it out, Shepard. No one else can listen, can they?" he said softly, voice cold but not unkind, more searching than mean.

"No...I'll see you tomorrow, Sir..." she murmured, and then turned and left. He caught her flick a look back at him, then the call ended, and he was left alone in his office, the light of the red dwarf behind him illuminating the black tiles.

He stood there a long time, thinking. Wondering. She was quite...interesting. To study especially. The best humanity had to offer...somehow, that seemed to be very apt. She was a fierce soldier, he'd seen the recordings of her fighting even his own troops two years ago...but not only that, she had something gentle about her. Her crew loved her, respected her, would happily die for her. That was a rare trait that even he did not possess in most cases. Her crew universally respected and loved her...he had a few agents, like Ms Lawson, who felt that way, but he knew Miranda would follow Shepard before him. Given a few months, he knew it without a doubt. But for now, she was a good way to keep an eye on Shepard.

A face-to-face meeting...it had been a long time since anyone but his most trusted agents were allowed into this room. But...Shepard needed answers, answers she couldn't get on a ship full of people who needed her to be...well, Commander Shepard. She needed someone to defer to and ask questions of...but she couldn't tell her crew that.

For a moment, pity was in his heart for her. He'd been in that position, and it wasn't fun. And she was military, just like he had been. It...was hard, he knew. And she was trying. But she had only been brought back a few days ago. She needed to find her footing, and he needed her to do so. If he could help her find it, than he was required to help.

He strode back to his chair and his work, putting Shepard out of his mind after he sent EDI the encrypted data. After all, there was some significant work to be done that had nothing to do with her, and some that had to do with his plans for her upfront and in the long run.

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"What the _Hell_ is _wrong_ with me!?"

He had been prepared for anger. He'd even been prepared for her to yell. But it was what she yelled that took the reclusive tycoon by surprise. She'd come in calmly enough, and then, soon as they were alone, had stormed up and smacked him hard enough to redden his pale features. He didn't flinch, but he took some small delight in watching her shake her hand out. She preferred to punch things rather than smack them...

"Physically? Nothing. If anything, you're better than before-"

"And mentally? _Emotionally?_" she snapped back, before he could finish the sentence. Her black hair had been longer before...even yesterday. She'd cut it, back to Alliance regs. Just one more reminder that she was working _with_ him, not _for_ him. Except that she was...her coming here proved it. He'd cleared his appointments to meet with her, and she was certainly taking advantage of it.

But there it was again...through her anger, he glimpsed the doubt, the...sorrow? Or was it fear?

His voice softened, watching as she fell into the extra chair he had brought in just for her. They might be chatting a long time. And he respected her enough to give her a chair. He could see the glittering of tears, and it occurred to him that her world was now upside-down, and suddenly she was working for the wrong side and going against everything she knew. Suddenly, she was alive again, and he could only imagine the emotional shitstorm that could cause someone. And she couldn't cry on the Normandy...it was simply impossible for her to show any weakness there.

He strode over to her, cheek still stinging as he knelt beside her, examining her for a long moment as he thought about her question, a cold and almost clinical expression in his blue eyes.

"I don't know. You're you, Miranda has assured me beyond a doubt of that, as have you and your actions. But you died and were brought back. Your mind and emotions have to catch up on two years of being dead. I imagine that it will take some time for them to normalize. Was there anything else...?"

She was shaking, he noted. That was it...that almost child-like pain. That's what he'd seen yesterday, a flash of a woman who wasn't military, but who had survived so much life it hurt her. He'd seen the weaker woman inside every strong one, and this was the part that kept her tongue in check. He'd only heard her swear a few times on the surveillance bugs, and Miranda had commented in reports that the Commander swore little, it had been part of her nature before being brought back and was still there now. It was almost cute, but at the same time very sad to see.

He poured her a glass of bourbon and knelt again, offering it to her.

"Here, have a drink. It might even help. At the very least, it will stop you crying."

Her eyes locked onto the silver cigarette case in his breast-pocket, it was hanging out just a little from this angle, and he noted her forcing her eyes away. Yes...she used to smoke, before she joined the Alliance Navy. Of course she would, under so much stress, stare at his expensive cigarettes.

Her green eyes examined the bourbon, before she wiped at them furiously, cursing under her breath. He was impressed. Five minutes in, and she'd smacked him, cried, resisted cigarettes, and swore. So far, this was going splendidly.

"That's expensive stuff...Eagle Rare, right? That's strong bourbon."

Her voice was more level again, but he could guess she would explode one way or the other soon enough. Still, he hoped she appreciated the drink.

"It is. But I have my ways, and-"

"And having money helps. Yeah, heard that one before."

There was more bitterness there than he had heard from her. Everyone knew she resented the privileges of money, but she also seemed to...well, she sipped the bourbon with a practiced ease, the alcohol barely affecting her even after two years dead, showing her pleasure at the alcohol despite it's expensive nature. Used to the burn. He had to admit, he found that women who could actually drink were far more enjoyable in conversation. In his experience, anyway.

He sat down in his chair, looking her over, appraising her. Her nose was badly broken from her childhood in the streets, many of the scars from her past were cleaned from her, but...the scars where the cybernetics showed through, those were still fresh and jagged, and she seemed self-conscious of them under his gaze. She sipped the bourbon carefully, and he noted that her urge was to down it in one go. He didn't doubt she could.

"It does, certainly. But I was going to say that connections and the rare friend were of help too."

She looked at him, green eyes suddenly piercing, searching for anger or mocking in his eyes. His smirk...anything. She found none. Just an impassive wall that she could not read.

She shuffled awkwardly, and finally looked up again from the bourbon. He was still smoking a cigarette, still sipping his whiskey. After all, she had the questions, not him.

"You put a lot of money into me...and a lot of effort into bringing me back when everything said it couldn't be done. You wanted me just the way I am-"

"Ms Lawson wanted to put a control chip in you. I refused. Tell me Commander...what does that tell you about me?"

She glared, and ignored his comment, returning her gaze to the floor as she stood, pacing agitatedly. Out of her armor, he noted that her uniform defined her well. Not even physically, though it clung nicely to her curves. It defined _her_, the woman. Uptight, strong, selfless...but like the cloth, fragile as well. He had just seen it. Her crying had been a show of fragility, one she wanted to forget and couldn't under his gaze. He found that so...amusing.

"You wanted me to be me...but why me? What made me special? And don't pretty it up, don't tell me it was my leadership or any other bullshit. Lots of people have those qualities. What made me so special you had to bring me back?"

He paused, and examined her, before standing and striding towards her. Her grip on the glass tightened, and their cybernetic eyes met. His blue to her green. Him taller than her by several inches, but both of them lean and easily able to kill anyone else who tried this. He found that strangely interesting, that she was afraid of him when he was willing to bet that, if he didn't have surprise on his side, she could pulverize him.

He leaned down the few inches, and watched her shudder as he hissed in her ear.

"Because no one had all those traits rolled into one, and no one else had saved the Citadel. It wasn't Garrus or Tali'Zorah or Joker who they celebrated, it was you. You saved the Council, and you stopped Saren. No one commanded you then, and you don't need anyone to now. So why did you come here, Maria?"

She actually gasped. No one used her first name. Even Anderson, who treated her like a daughter...it was Shepard there too. He knew this, and he was interested in how she would react.

"I don't know...I needed to...do something...but I don't know what. All I'm doing is wasting your time...thank you for the drink..." she mumbled, and went to leave. He spun her about again, and glared down at her, watching her instinctively stand to attention even as she gripped the glass in her hand.

"You needed something, Commander. And when something – _someone_ – as important as you needs something from me and I can provide it, I do. So, Shepard. What do you need?"

He searched her face, aware that she was very still, arm still gripped by his hand in an iron grip, refusing to let her walk away. He watched the steel in her eyes melt, and the slump come to her body.

"An ear...just an ear...I can't ask Miranda what I need to ask her, and she wouldn't have the answers anyway. And Anderson is busy at the Citadel, and Chambers...she has the crew to worry about, not me."

The Illusive Man watched her for just a moment more, then nodded and let her go.

"Fine then Shepard. But next time, I'll treat you to dinner. Now, go get Mordin Solus on our side, otherwise this is all a moot point. And take the bottle, you obviously like it and I have many more."

She looked at him warily, and then gulped the last of the bourbon in her glass before decidedly forcing herself to not take the bottle with her when she turned.

"Sir?"

He turned, curious as she lingered a few feet from the door, ready to leave, but...looking at him again, with that doubt on her face.

"Hm?"

"Who am I loyal to? The organization that found me and brought me back...or the people who gave my life purpose?"

"Whoever said it couldn't be both? When did your life become simple, Shepard, a simple choice between one group and another?"

She nodded, and then left, and he picked up the bottle reflectively and glanced at the glass she had left on her chair. Somehow...that single hour felt too short. Surely he could kept her here longer, she certainly needed it...but forcing emotional reactions from people seldom got you far, he had learned. She'd come to him when she was ready. So for now, he set the bottle aside to send to the Normandy later, and went back to his work, enjoying a day free of appointments and instead full of his 'paperwork.'

After awhile, he became aware of the sting in his cheek once again, and had to chuckle. He was going to watch her with interest...more than before. He was curious how she balanced that fierce warrior who could storm up and smack him, and the young woman who had fallen weeping into a chair. She was an interesting study of PTSD and survival of the mind and heart. Now he had a chance to examine it from the outside, rather than being the person surviving. Interesting notion...and an interesting person to watch it on. He knew several neurologists and psychologists who would kill for the chance he was getting right now. Better make the best of it then...


	3. Chapter 2: A Bottled Wasp Stings Twice

**A/N****: This is Maria's reaction to the conversation in Chapter 1. This one is shorter because she has active work to do. namely, fetching Garrus and Mordin. So...yep. **

* * *

Did he understand how simply infuriating he was? Did that arrogant son of a bitch even get it?

Maria collapsed on her bed in her cabin, curling up with a pillow. She was unstable...it had been nearly two decades since she'd been this unstable. Half the time she felt like she was going to explode, and the other half she felt like she going to implode...

And then he'd whispered in her ear...her name, and she had smelled the bourbon on his breath, and the cigarette smoke...and she knew she was in trouble. He was attractive, she couldn't deny him that. And he was so...God-awful arrogant. And besides, the son of a bitch was the only person she could turn to for someone to listen...Garrus had done his best, but...well, she was still alone. He was a good friend, but nothing more...no one was, or ever had been. And then that bastard had whispered in her ear, and she'd shuddered for him...she hadn't missed his amused smirk at it, but...

She wasn't without her own weapons. He was worried about her...professionally, he had to be, but...when she'd broken down crying, he'd seemed...confused for a moment. And when he'd spoken, despite the coldness in his eyes, his voice had been almost...warm. Kind, even.

And he was right. She needed no one to tell her what to do, she had saved the Citadel last time with little direction. And no one had wanted to hear the life stories of Joker, or Garrus, or Kaiden...it had all been about her, what it was like saving the galaxy with her, what she was like, what was her background, how did she treat them...

Just like after Akuze. Then too they had held her up as a paragon of what they wanted, what they thought was good, and proper. But she hadn't had a commander then either...just her own sense of right and wrong, her own gut feelings and stubbornness. He was right...why did she feel the need to defer to His judgment, to His wishes? She defied Him in front of His face, then obeyed diligently when He ended the call or dismissed her or whatever...why did she do that when she had proven so many times over that she didn't need superiors?

Because she did. She needed someone to follow or defy, someone to respect as a leader even if she didn't obey all the time. And He was a leader who gave her good and valid orders, even if their thinking was different. Vastly different. He knew her well, maybe better than she knew herself...what she needed was Garrus, or Joker to talk with, to just...sit down and talk...but even for them, her closest friends, she couldn't do what He had seen her do...she couldn't cry for them, because they would lose hope...and Garrus...well, the chances she would see him again were slim, if he left C-Sec...

Why did she believe that the Illusive Man wasn't lying to her about that? Why did she even trust His words at all? Why had Him whispering her name in her ear, that scent of bourbon and smoke on His breath, made her shudder with pleasure? She doubted that He had meant for her to, He had seemed surprised, though amused...

"He's messing with my brain...I trust Him because he's my boss...nothing more. He has no reason to lie to me...yet..."

She wasn't under the illusion that he wouldn't lie to her...she knew he would, whenever it served to in fact. But right now, there was no reason. No reason at all. Not yet, anyway...

"Shepard? Commander, we are arriving at Omega. Who are we after first?"

Maria stood and sighed, and grabbed her armor, throwing it on as she replied to Miranda's question. Why was she doing this again? Right, human colonies...like Freedom's Progress...yeah, she had to save them. No time for her self-pity, no time for her anger at being the Chosen One...Anderson would laugh if he heard her say that. Whatever...work to do...

"Archangel...if the plague district is that messed up, I want a good shot on my side who doesn't have biotics. Besides, I'm willing to bet that he;ll need our help more immediately. That long without rest, he must be getting exhausted. Who was that merc he wanted us to get?"

"Zaeed Ma-"  
"Ah...we'll probably find him first. Zaeed always had a knack for getting himself into the dirtiest places around"  
"You know him, Commander?"  
"Served with him on a few N7 missions...one of the best mercs around, and the oldest. Man's practically a member of my family."  
"That'll be useful, Commander. He almost refused to work with us until the Illusive Man offered him a large amount of credits."  
"He's worth whatever he paid."  
"He'd better be."

Maria smiled, and stepped out of the elevator, looking at her first mate with a slightly mischievous look.

"Miranda, trust me. Zaeed might be a real piece of work, but the man's worth his pay. And I know, he demands a lot of pay."

The ride to Omega was quiet, though Jacob hit her up for conversation a bit. She was a touch eager to find her mercenary friend. He still owed her a few beers from last time...be interesting to see if he still remembered, it had been five years or so...

When they got off the ship and stepped onto Omega, she wasn't surprised to see her old friend beating up his batarian prisoner. Violent he was...but he had a bit of gentleness there, for the right person.

"Zaeed Massani?"  
"Who's askin'?" he asked, without turning around to see as he kicked the begging batarian.  
"A girl who needs a goddamn drink. Or three."

The old merc turned about, and grinned, clapping her on the shoulder.

"Well I'll be damned! Commander Shepard. Illusive Man said he'd brought you back, girl. Everyone was moaning about you bein' gone. Let me settle this contract, and I'll be on-board quick as you like...I'm guessin' you want my ass fast as possible."  
"How about you settle that and come back here? Miranda, I'd like some time with an old friend. I'm sure you understand?"  
"Of course, Commander. I have a report to send to the Illusive Man in any case, I'll make sure the ship doesn't get torn apart in the mean time," Miranda responded, and nodded to Zaeed before heading back for the ship.

So it was that Zaeed and Jacob helped maria find Archangel and recruit him...which was easier done than said, as Archangel turned out to be Garrus Vakarian. The reunion would have gone better if they hadn't had to take out so many mercs, but what could you do?


	4. Chapter 3: If I Always Had a Reason

**Chapter 3: If I Always Had a Reason**

**A/N****: This is after Horizon. Maria didn't romance anyone in ME1, so Kaidan was just a dear friend. Doesn't mean she can't be defensive of his actions. It's been two months since the last chapter took place, and they've been talking every week since then. I just didn't want to write that many scenes, so this will seem a touch...rushed, perhaps. For feelings to develop...just keep the time frames in mind, I'll put them in my notes at the beginning of every chapter.  
**

* * *

He observed her carefully, marking absently that the woman before him seemed on edge, angry...her debriefing would be short, a simple invitation to dinner on Ilium. It was a place that he could visit fairly safely, and she could move freely on. Besides...he knew better than to think that she or he would like to eat privately on Omega. He and Aria had a...well, a rivalry, and though they didn't get in each other's way often, sometimes it was unavoidable, and he usually won the ensuing conflict.

She simply didn't like it. Too similar to the dives she worked and saw on Earth as a child, she'd said...not to him, but to some reporter a few years ago. About a new bar on the Citadel...

"Is this a required meeting, Sir?"

He turned back to her, and took a long drag of his cigarette, looking the Commander over. She was angry, he was essentially brushing her questions away to be answered tomorrow night. On a planet she had to waste fuel to get to. What had she called it a few moments ago? Ah yes...his own private power-trip. Perhaps it was...but he sighed and breathed the smoke out evenly, blue eyes meeting her fiery green ones.

"It is, Shepard, if you want your questions answered. I can only imagine you would like that by now, someone to listen to you. You said as much last week when I called to check in."

She bristled. He knew he had her now, she simply couldn't deny to him anymore that she needed someone to listen to her. And he could imagine that she must be smarting from Alenko's anger. She must feel betrayed...he wondered vaguely if he could help with that. She'd been betrayed before, but...well, Alenko had saved the galaxy with her. Even he hadn't been expecting such a reaction, those sorts of bonds were hard to break...and for her, it was only a few months, not years. Still, the man had brushed her away rather cruelly.

"Fine...uniform again?"  
"Well, eating in armor does tend to draw attention, and neither of us really want that, do we? Unless you _would_ rather that, Commander?"

She opened her mouth to argue, and he took the opportunity to sip his bourbon.

"_Private_ room. And there'd better be bourbon," she snapped. He just smiled, and nodded.  
"As you wish, Shepard. Would you like a cigarette as well, or-"  
"No...You don't smoke. _All night_. I hate the smell of cigarette smoke. Second hand smoke kills..."  
"So does the smoke itself, speaking as the smoker."  
"I quit a long time ago..."  
"Your lungs were still very badly burned when Miranda got them out of you. She was amazed you could even run."  
"I wonder what your lungs are like, then."  
"Good question. I may answer it over dinner."  
"You're...you're impossible! An arrogant, smug, impossible _bastard!_"

He hid his smile by taking a deep drag from his cigarette, watching her try and compose herself as she folded her hands behind her back.

"Probably all true. Except maybe smug. I'm only smug when I have reason to be. I will see you tomorrow, Shepard."

She stalked out of the room, and he closed the transmission, thinking. That was the first time she'd exploded at him over the holograms...it had been a week or so since they had talked, and she seemed unstable again. Maybe Alenko's doubts had struck closer to her heart than he had thought...she had been very angry then, when she exploded at him. He had better step carefully then tomorrow. He doubted that she would settle for a smack, and he would hate to have to hurt her. He wasn't, despite what many seemed to think, a monster. He didn't want to see the woman break down crying, because frankly...he claimed otherwise, but she was a symbol to him too. Of what humanity could become. If all humans had her guts, her bravery, her compassion, her conviction...they would rule the galaxy. Or at least be equal partners in its running, because he acknowledged that the older races knew more and were entitled to power as well. Equal partners would be good...

He paused. Shepard had been very quiet these last few weeks. Their latest conversations had mainly been about missions, not really much about her. This was slightly vexing to him. After all...he was interested in what made her tick. She was cynical and sarcastic and scarred...beautiful, in her own way. She would have been prettier without the scars, of course...the busted nose was a touch that he found rather intriguing. He wondered what the story was, because frankly...she had the funds to have had it reset long ago. Why did she keep it broken? It was an interesting problem...

His surveillance of her rooms was something as well. Miranda was good, but even she hadn't thought to see what the brave Commander Shepard did in her private quarters. As it turned out, the Commander tended to feed her fish, and stare at the wall from the bed, silent and worried. She had every right to be. It was her ass on the line after all...

On occasion, he would get to see her slip: a small smile as she went through reports, the sound of her laughing when she chatted with the turian, her success at cards with her engineers. Her people loved her...but why? He got that she interacted with them as an equal, he understood the sense in why they loved her for that, but...

What was it Admiral Hackett had told him? The old man had some good lessons to be taught, and long ago they had chatted in a bar, though he doubted the older man remembered. Ah yes...That thing about what you could and couldn't pay a soldier to do. Perhaps that was why he needed Shepard...her crew followed her into Hell because they believed in her, and what she stood for. If she was leading them into hell, maybe they didn't believe they would survive, but they believed that she cared. They believed she would do her best to get them out safely.

The Illusive Man continued to mull these thoughts over, curious about why he cared so much in the first place. She was an intriguing person...attractive, certainly, he couldn't deny it. But he'd met many attractive women in his life, and few had been interesting enough to hold his attention for more than a few minutes, maybe seconds. But he found he was actually concerned about Shepard. He needed her to be stable of course, so he did his best to keep her that way, but...

He shrugged, returning to his work. He'd figure it out in time. And of course, tomorrow he got to see her again. He got to invite her to dinner. Although, he was still supplying the drinks...he would have to ask that next time she bring the drinks, his private store wouldn't survive long if the pair of them both polished off a bottle in forty-five minutes and then opened another. Again...

He chuckled at himself. Oh yes, the hangover had taught him something alright...never try and out-drink her. Her balance was thrown off, but her reaction speed and mind barely seemed to be affected by the alcohol. He was lucky he hadn't tripped over his tongue and made a fool of himself. Though...he was sure she had been laughing at him in her head. Her eyes had seemed to glow brighter...and ever since, her reports had been more prompt, and less sharp. Less critical of him and his motivations...

He paused again, and mulled that thought over, examining it. Did she trust him now? That was a long way to come in a month. After she had woken, she had seemed to hate him. Freedom's Progress had certainly marked an end to her previous life, but...did she trust his words now? Perhaps she did...it was something he would examine tomorrow. Today, he had reports to examine, from her and others, and work that needed seeing to. _Besides_, he thought, _she might just trust me __for now__. She's working with me, not for me, as she likes to say. It would be interesting to get her to join Cerberus...useful too. Still, Remington...one step at a time. No use rushing it._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Hello, Commander. A pleasure, as always."

The Illusive Man stood when she entered the room. He was vaguely surprised. She was wearing a black dress, long and v-necked. Alright, he was _very_ surprised. It clung to her body and outlined the curves, and ended at about her ankles. She also wore black high-heels. For a moment, he felt like he'd under-dressed, though his suit went with everything.

"EDI said the place was high-end...and that you said to meet you in a ballroom. So I dressed up. To not draw attention."

He had to keep himself from whistling and chuckling, setting his drink down and putting out his cigarette instead after a last long drag.

"You brought the bourbon?" she snapped, catching his smirk and folding her arms over her chest, flushing with embarrassment. He nodded and stood, moving to stand beside her. The asari ballroom was empty...credits could buy just about anything on Ilium, and an empty ballroom wasn't hard. Few went in there for more than a look at the architecture anyway. Renting it for a day hadn't been hard, just expensive...and since he seldom splurged for personal reasons, he figured it was worth it.

"I did. But before I bring it out, Commander, there's a part of the bargain I neglected to mention. And you're in just the right attire to accommodate it."

She glared at him, her jaw setting. It made the angles of her face stand out, and brought out whatever she was feeling the most at that moment in her eyes. Currently, he guessed at annoyance, maybe confused anger.

"Commander Shepard, would you care to join me in a dance?"

He enjoyed her reaction far too much, he knew...she flushed again with embarrassment, and her eyes went wide in shock. She sat down stiffly into a chair, looking...he guessed at confused.

She stammered something, not meeting his eyes.

"I...I can't dance..."  
"Dancing at a bar is very different than dancing a waltz, Commander. Tell me, can you keep a beat?"

He knew she could. The critics of her dancing usually said that she had a good rhythm, but she didn't know how to move, she just couldn't get into it...she thought too much or something like that...

So all of them ran, every report by her friends, every criticism he'd heard or read. He wanted to give her something to do, some release for when he was too busy. And besides...he was curious if she was willing to learn.

He offered his hand, waiting politely and calmly as she stared at her hands. He noted the rough callouses, built up over years of holding a gun...callouses his hands once mirrored, but now showed no sign of. He waited though, and when she seemed to be taking awhile, he moved his hand to grab his glass, wondering if he could get away with a cigarette...and then he felt her hand gently grab his wrist, before sliding down to leave her fingers in his palm.

He glanced down at her, meeting her eyes, which had finally turned to look at him, to search his own with something he hadn't personally seen in her before. A fiery...passion? No...not quite the right word. Perhaps...tenacity. That fit better. She wanted to learn, self-conscious as she was. She wanted to try, and her body-language oozed her nervousness, as well as her openness to the idea. A strange mixture...but he was willing to take advantage of it.

"Teach me...please...teach me to dance...please?"

He nodded, and practically felt the warmth in his eyes as he helped her up, noting how awkward she felt in the dress. First things first...he had to get her comfortable in it.

Quietly, he took off his jacket, the crisp white beneath easier to move in and easier to replace if today ended in tears.

"Alright. Now, slide your arm about my waist, Maria. Good. Don't loose your grip unless I direct otherwise. It's easier to follow when you've got a good grip on your partner. Now, take my other hand with your free one...very good. Now, I'm going to step, and you're going to follow. I'll count out the time until you can keep it with me, alright? Good."

He began to count, and move, and he kept it simple. She caught on quickly, her feet used to combat. So she moved with him, and after a few minutes he paused, and he felt her pause with him, still following, but feet moving more smoothly now.

"Would you like to try something harder?"

She hesitated, suddenly blushing again. He watched it start along her cheekbones and spread to her jaw, quickly deepening her pale features. Still...even when she was very embarrassed, she seldom blushed down to her collarbones.

"I...if you wouldn't mind teaching me...then yes..."  
"Do you think I'd have offered if I minded?"

She hesitated again, and he caught the signs. She was feeling down again, allowed to think. Had no one ever danced with her without making fun of her? He wondered for a moment. She was a beautiful woman, there was nothing else to say about it. But...surely someone had...?  
No...the look in her green eyes sealed it. No one had ever taken the time to teach her, to let her express it without being teased. That seemed very wrong...she was a kind woman. And no woman deserved that to be done to her.

"No...I- I don't think you would..." she murmured, ducking her head down again, nervous again, twitchy.  
"Alright then. Let's see now...let's try to twirl you out, your dress is good for it. Now, take your hand from my waist, and keep it about six inches from your side, it makes for less mess in crowded rooms. Here, however...keep it parallel with your shoulder as best you can. Very good. Now, spin out of my arm...slowly now, that's it...and when you feel the tension in your muscles-"

He cut off as she lost her footing in the heels, and yanked her back into his arms, feeling her whimper slightly against him as he checked her over with his eyes, to make sure she was alright. She seemed a bit shaken up, but alright. Her heart-rate had exploded, but it was now just slightly above normal.

"That would have been fine if not for the heels. You were doing very well."  
"I told you I can't dance..." she whispered, and for a moment, he looked down at her. He hadn't let her go yet, and she seemed completely crushed. Who knew it was this easy to make the great Commander Shepard feel so low? He hadn't even tried, it had just...happened. And he felt oddly upset that it had.  
"You were doing perfectly fine, Maria. Better than most people I've known, certainly. Especially since you're not used to high-heels. Now. Care to try again?"  
"I'd like a drink..."

She hadn't pulled away either. He wasn't sure she was aware of it yet. That she was still pressed against him, breathing in the scent of smoke on his shirt, shuddering slightly against him. He wasn't sure he wanted her to.

"Alright...I'll get the bourbon. Only if you promise to try again later."

She looked up at him, and he realized she had been on the verge of crying. Her voice hadn't-  
Ah. Of course. She was trying not to cry. Well, that wasn't good...

"Alright..."

He moved over to a bar in the ballroom, and grabbed the bottle of bourbon, opening it without hesitation and grabbing a tray of ice cubes. She settled at the bar, still obviously shaken, but feeling better it seemed. Still, he kept an eye on her anyway, dropping the ice into her glass and pouring the bourbon over them, before handing her the cold drink. She didn't gulp it, didn't even sip it for a long moment, seemingly lost in her own thoughts as he poured his own drink and watched her with one eye.

"Shepard, I thought you trusted me."

She looked at him suddenly, green eyes sparkling. The cybernetics made them do that when light caught them the right way, but...he thought he saw one or two drying tear tracks.

"I do...Sir."

He waited, hearing the tone that said she wanted to talk to him, patiently sipping his bourbon as she worked up the courage to say it aloud.

"I can't keep calling you that...Illusive Man, Sir...those draw attention, and...I can't confide in someone with no name. Not for long, anyway..." she whispered. She sounded guilty...like she knew better than to ask but was asking anyway, like she expected him to give her some bullshit answer, tease her, give her some alias...he probably should have.

He didn't know why he answered honestly. Maybe to see if she believed him. Maybe because he respected her enough for it. Or maybe because he trusted her, and was simply curious what she did with the information.

"Remington. Remington Harper."

She had gone back to staring at her drink, but her head snapped up when he spoke, though he was sipping his bourbon when her eyes searched his for lies, for hidden truths, for something wrong.

"Remington Harper?" she murmured, and he nodded, blue eyes meeting hers as he set his drink down. His name sounded strangely pleasing with her slight accent, her slightly Irish lilt. Of course, Ireland had changed with the rest of the world in the twenty-second century, but...the accent hadn't.  
"Yes. Don't ask me why."

She pondered this a moment, then shrugged. It was possibly the best reaction to anything he'd told her yet. She didn't really question it, didn't even really seem to care much beyond having a name for him.

"And what of Major Alenko, Maria?"

His voice was intentionally pitched softly, and even so he barely dodged the punch aimed his way. He nearly spilled his drink, which bothered him less than the hurt in her eyes.

"I told you, that's no business of yours!" she hissed, but she didn't pursue him or the topic, instead sipping her bourbon, nursing it...suddenly subdued with the thought of the man she should have been able tot rust. Who should have trusted her.  
"It _is_ my business when it may affect your performance, as it already is. Rightfully so, of course. He went through a mission that saved the galaxy with you, and the moment you aren't working with the Alliance, the moment he sees you, he lashes out and takes his anger at my people out on you. He didn't listen. He is a fool."

He shouldn't have said it, but...such a bond as she formed with her non-human crew...how could her human friend, who she had elected to save over another close friend, treat her so badly upon first seeing she was alive? Why would he? She was an amazing woman, and after that sort of bond, how could he distrust her so completely?

He expected a punch. What he got was her getting off the chair and walking away, as if to leave. And he found himself walking after her, cutting her off from the door.

"That was...out of line," he murmured, watching her glare at him as hot tears fell from her eyes. But she didn't push past him. He almost relaxed...but she looked ready to break down, and he didn't want to relax only to have her breakdown.  
"Come...there's a couch in the corner. Just talk. I promise I'll listen."  
She still didn't move, and he wasn't sure she wasn't going to storm out. And yet...she was crying, trying not to but not succeeding.

"Come on Maria. Let's go sit down."

She nodded, and he gently stepped towards her, not sure what he expected...but he didn't expect her to so readily take his hand again, and to let him lead her to the couch. And he didn't expect her to kick the heels off and curl up against him on the couch, crying and shaking. So fragile...so sweetly fragile. Still...there was steel in her soul, maybe titanium. But it was so easy to hurt her with her crew...she got attached, but deflected them getting to know her. Joker probably knew her best, honestly...and even he didn't get this display of weakness.

"W-why did you say Kaidan is a fool?" she whispered, curling tightly up on herself. He paused, thinking. Why _had_ he said that?  
"Because he does not see what I see..." he said at last.  
"And what is that, s- Remington?"

He smiled, and hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I see a woman who would have happily sacrificed herself for the good of people who insisted she was wrong. A woman who is brave, kind, compassionate, and willing to get the job done, but takes care of her people. And her people are everyone...especially her crew. That sort of woman...you don't abandon."

She was silent a long while, and he absently reached for his glass to sip the bourbon, feeling her shudder against him. This was very interesting...she was taking comfort in his words, even if he knew she didn't fully trust him. Although...the name had gone a long way towards rectifying that.

"Remington?"  
"Yes, Maria?"

She fell silent again, but he set the glass down, the silence slightly more active, more aggressive this time.

"Would _you_ abandon me?" she murmured, staring straight down at the couch. She wanted a serious, honest answer...he wondered why he indulged her in the truth. After all, it was hard to verify anything he told her as truth or fiction. But he told her the truth.  
"I spent billions of credits bringing you back for those qualities...and you're some of the best company I've had in years. No, Shepard, I would not abandon you like that."

She nodded, and he noted that she had closed her eyes and looked exhausted, though she seemed content as well. He shrugged. He couldn't actively do much about it...not like he wanted to. This was already very personal and warm, almost affectionate...surely this couldn't last, though part of him informed his brain that he wanted it to.

"Sir?"

Her instinctive use of the word caught his attention again, and he raised a brow, curious and inviting her to continue. She hesitated.

"Would you..."

She hesitated again, staring at the couch beneath them, not meeting his eyes. He watched a change in her demeanor as she forced herself to ignore her question and say something else. She was so easy to read in these fragile, gentle moments...

"You can smoke now..." she mumbled. He continued to watch her for awhile, wondering why she stopped herself.  
"Would I what?" he finally asked, looking at her askance, contemplating her possible answers.  
"Would you...kiss me?" she breathed, her voice so soft a whisper that he barely heard her.

He went still, feeling her against his side, Part of him wanted to...two months of calling her every week (or being called), of listening to her vent her feelings to him, of seeing the fragility she could show no one else...

And she looked scared, worried...hurt even. Her eyes seemed so much older than thirty-five, like the world, the Prothean vision, the Reapers...like everything had aged her soul faster than it should have aged.

He'd loved and lost before, several times in fact. She was beautiful, but he'd seen women far more beautiful and been actively turned off by them. So what was it? That fragility, perhaps? The weakness only he got to see in her, that made the brave Commander Shepard another human being, with problems and faults? Or was it her steadfast belief in the idea that turians, humans, asari, salarians, krogan...that every species was part of one galactic community, that they could all get along? There was a word that...it was idealism. She truly believed in that ideal despite the cynicism and mistrust and bitterness her life had caused in her.

That's what it was...what made her tick. Why people followed her to hell and came back alive. Not only did she care about them, but she believed in their cause. Even when everything and everyone said she was wrong and it couldn't be done...He believed too. Differently, it was true, but he believed.

The silence stretched...and then he sighed. Not tonight...he wouldn't kiss her tonight. Or, so he told himself.\He looked down at her green eyes, the cybernetics so like his own. But she was scared...and he realized he didn't want her to be. He leaned down, hesitated a moment, then kissed her.

She melted against him, and he felt her shudder and hug him close, warm and rough and soft all at once. She was the one who broke the kiss, and he realized belatedly that his lungs were burning for air.

"Come on...let's dance, then eat. We both have work to do. Mordin thinks he may have figured out something-"  
"I heard about the outbreak of a certain STD only acquirable through varren...Frightening idea that."  
"I think I know who started it..."

She was smiling, and he suddenly realized he'd been tense since she first looked upset. Now, he was relaxed. Now, he stood, and offered her his hand. She took it without any hesitation, stepping up to his side and sliding into his grip, her arm snaking around his waist. And they began to dance, silently and sweetly enjoying the company of the other. He taught her with quiet words and gestures mostly, and even when she slipped, he caught her and they went on, waltzing around the room comfortably together.

It was Joker's cough that brought them back to the real world, and Remington turned towards the door, watching Shepard's brow rise in surprise. Her pilot – and closest friend besides that turian – was standing in the doorway, standing on his crutches. He thought he saw an amused smirk slide off the other man's face, but didn't comment. Joker nodded his head stiffly to them both, and began to speak, tone amused, but slightly nervous...then again, Shepard and himself were two of the most influential and powerful people around. The pilot had every right to be nervous.

"Better eat soon, Commander. The Council called, Udina wants to see about reinstating you and they want to ask you about some things. Udina made an appointment. We need to leave in two hours to make it on time."

"Thank you, Joker. I'll...I'll be along soon," she said softly, nodding to acknowledge she'd heard.  
"Sir, Ma'am."

They watched him leave, which took awhile. But it seemed to drag on forever as neither of them said anything.

Maria seemed subdued again, her once relaxed body now tense and twitchy again. When she sighed, the sound was heavy and almost sad, and personally he mirrored the emotions privately, not letting her see his disappointment.

"I should leave early...there's a few things I need to do at the Citadel anyway..." she murmured softly, turning back towards him and hesitantly leaning against his chest, breathing in the scent on his white shirt. He could hear her taking deep breaths against the cloth, a soft whistling noise from the air movement drawing his attention.  
"Yes...I suppose you should leave early then. Come...let's go eat, as he suggested. The hotel has an amazing restaurant."

She nodded, and they began to pack up their things. He grabbed his jacket, and went to turn when he heard something hit the floor. Turning back, he saw Shepard kneeling carefully to retrieve his cigarette case, setting the bottle of bourbon down slowly.

He watched, curious, as she opened it and drew out one slender cigarette, running it under her nose and smelling it carefully. She seemed mildly impressed, then lit it on a candle nearby and handed it to him, along with the case. He simply smiled, and took a long drag on the cigarette, blowing it away from her.

"I did agree not to smoke, you know."  
"I noticed. But you're not you without a cigarette nearby. Besides...those are high quality. The tobacco is sweet...expensive. They smell very good."

He chuckled, taking a shorter drag as he wondered how best to answer.

"They are certainly good, yes...and expensive, you're right. I discovered them in London many years ago, and simply haven't been able to give them up yet."

She nodded, and took his arm quietly as she let him lead her to a quick meal. It wasn't as long as he would have liked, but...it was something. Thirty minutes later, the Commander was off, after kissing him again quietly. He remained for awhile, thinking. He hadn't expected any of that...but in a way, he found her unpredictability a bit of a relief. It made her interesting, and she was good conversation, good company...once she had finished venting, a few times their conversations had lasted hours, even just for a debriefing. And she was...definitely something to watch. And he would have to deal with his own emotions later, he was sure she knew that too. He was...doubtful. But interested. And yet...her company was too good to be denied, and she listened to him in return. She let him talk, didn't seem to judge him too harshly anymore...in many ways, she seemed to agree with him. In others, she definitely didn't. It made for interesting and never-dull conversations and meeting.

Sometimes her venting was a bit repetitive, annoying even, but...he knew she had reason. She had no one but him to rally vent to. So she could sound like a whiny bitch with him if she needed to. He found that slightly amusing, her mood-swings with him. He was sure that soon they would peter out, stabilize. But for now, it was amusing. And worth listening to. He could bet that when her moods stabilized and she calmed down, that she would perhaps be more open to other conversations, ways that currently were blocked by emotions.

But these were considerations for another time. She was off to the Citadel...the one place he couldn't safely go. He had lots of work in the meantime to get going on, and so he finished his meal, stood, paid the bill, and left, lighting a fourth cigarette and enjoying the Illium night air. He could see the Normandy leaving, and had to smile. His engineers had built a beautiful ship...perhaps at some point he could even see the inside.

_If I always had a reason for everything I do or feel...well, I'd be a machine, and not a man. Perhaps it's best...not to question this, for now. For now...the stars are bright, and my evening is free...I don't think a hot bath and an early night would be amiss,_ he thought quietly, putting out the cigarette and moving quickly towards where his own shuttle was docked, more eager than usual to get back to his own bed.


End file.
